Time to fess up

Well, as I mentioned in the last post, the Nixon story is true. And, for a little background, I'll quote an e-mail I sent out to a friend of mine this week:

"It was either late 1973 or the beginning of 1974 when we had this sleepover. It was wintertime, I recall. My family had just moved out to Illinois late in the summer of 1973 (right after the end of taping in the White House) just before I started second grade. The slumber party was hosted by my new friend L., whose dad was a Republican congressman. I have no idea if the call that night was related to the Vietnam trip he'd just taken or a "please don't hurt me" call from Nixon, as L.'s father was one of very few Republicans in Congress to support any articles of impeachment. (Can you say... uncomfortable?) Nixon was very patient with us being goofy kids. Considering the shitstorm around him, I'm amazed by that in retrospect.

I actually thought about that when I ran into Nixon in the lobby of the embassy in Moscow just a few months before he died. He was there privately as an advisor, and the embassy had been told by Washington to offer him no support. It felt very wrong. So, seeing him standing there, alone, in the lobby, I went over and asked him if I could help him. I found his car and driver and escorted him to his ride. He was very gracious (and looked very ill.)"

So, yeah, I ate chocolatey roaches and spoke to Tricky Dick himself. Strange world, eh?

The truth about my fabrication? Well... Justin was pretty much right. All the stories are true.

Except...

Wolfgang, the Armenian guy? The space aliens didn't appear outside his place of work, they appeared outside his apartment balcony. He had his wife take photos every time the UFOs appeared. He had a vast collection of shots of small white lights with his finger pointing to them. I had to sit through a presentation of all the blurry shots during a briefing on humanitarian aid in his city council office. He carried them around in his briefcase. It was pretty messed up.

I know, I kinda pulled a fast one there, but I realized some of the stories I have are so messed up, I couldn't think of something to make up that would sound more absurd. So, the visit to the Caucasus ended up with a wee fib in it.

The Sasquatch told me I was cheating, but hey - I did just say one of them wasn't *completely* true!

Just proof positive that real life beats fiction 99.9% of the time.

Justin, the coffee's on me. :)

It's an honor just to be nominated, or...

Color me all "awww shucks" and humbled.

I don't know who you are, Constant Reader, but thank you very much for nominating me for blogging awards on both Divine Caroline and the Blogger's Choice Awards. I'm nominated in the "Neighborhood & World" category on Divine Caroline and in four categories in the Blogger's Choice Awards: Best Blog About Blogging, Best Blog About Stuff, Freakiest Blogger (I *think* that's a compliment), and the "Blogitzer" which is for the best writing on a blog.

Really, I'm very flattered. It's very kind that someone things this highly of my writing. I imagine I don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell, considering that Dooce is probably nominated in every category, but still, it's nice!

If you have a chance and the inclination, please consider voting for me. I have buttons up on the right for both the Divine Caroline and Blogger's Choice sites. The Divine Caroline "badge" was e-mailed to me this afternoon, which came as a pleasant surprise.

It would be kinda fun to win (and, hell, Divine Caroline comes with cash prizes), but honestly, just the friends I've made through this site make me feel like I've already won the best prize of all.

And now, to the sofa for a Coke Zero and something educational on basic cable.

(You didn't really think I'd be watching the Republican love fest tonight, did you?)

You bet my sweet asteroid!

A menu was just shoved under my door. It's a colorful thing. Wish my scanner was working so I could share the joy directly with you.

It's for a middle eastern/mediterranean delivery joint with the very strange name of Asteroids. Yep. Asteroids. According to the flyer, the website is myasteroid.com, but don't bother going there - it's a dead site.

The colors on the menu flyer remind me of doctored Soviet photography, bright, but muddied like the poster for a 1950s monster movie. Let's just say the kabobs featured on one star-shaped segment of this design mess look... well... pre-digested.

But apparently, looks can be deceiving, and this is not just any carry-out joint! This is MIRACLE food! In a rainbow of colors and capital letters, the menu tells me:

IF YOU WANT TO BE HEALTHY * IF YOU WANT TO BE ACTIVE * IF YOU WANT TO BE SEXY * IF YOUR BODY WANTS TO BE FRESH * IF YOU WANT TO INVITE FRIENDS OUT TO EAT * REST YOUR MIND HERE!

Well, holy crap! I want to be sexy! I want a fresh body! And god knows, I've been looking for a place to rest my mind! Who knew that shawarma pizza could make you sexy! Do you rub it on yourself to achieve this effect? See, I would think that would give you that not-so-fresh feeling. If the copy is to be believed, I'm totally wrong. And hey -seriously, if eating their food makes your body fresh, I guess you can skip showering! WOW - what a water and energy saver! It's GREEN FOOD!!!

*ahem*

A gem on the inside is the description of the kabobs they sell:

Beef kabob "Secret!" (What - will the beef explode if not eaten in 15 seconds?)
Lamb kabob "Surprise!" (Ummm... I dunno - it's not lamb?)

I have a funny feeling I'm going to pass on ordering from Asteroids. Any restaurant that reminds me I may need Preparation H after eating their food is gonna get a pass.

Thanks, everyone!

Congratulations to Stemish, old school Dolby fan, for being hit 100,000 here at the Church! And thanks to each and every one of you who visits, reads, participates, and encourages my writing. I can't tell you how much your support means.

I know 100,000 hits is nothing for some bloggers. That's probably what Dooce gets within fifteen minutes of posting an entry about boobs or her baby. But for me, Middle Aged Schmo Girl, it's quite the benchmark. Will I still be blogging in a year? Who knows? As Yoda says, "Always in motion is the future." The likelihood is yes. Unless I win the lottery and move to Bora Bora, I'll probably still be a crap magnet with weird experiences to relate, bad 7-11 trips to describe, and new demons to exorcise through writing.

Thanks again, guys. I appreciate you all coming along for the ride. (The virtual ride, that is. I highly doubt any of you ever wants to get into an actual car with me. Too damn dangerous.)

Cheers!

So, apparently I lied...

Mr. Angry Back and his super-fun buddy Screw You Shoulder just woke up me. Good thing, too, since I'd fallen asleep on the sofa watching the gold medal match for men's beach volleyball. (Hey, why don't the men wear Speedos while playing this, since the women wear bikinis? That seems like a "viewer inequity" to me!!) Now, I have to go check CNN.com and see who actually won.

(And I need to brush my teeth. And put on jammies. And pray that throbbing body parts will settle down enough for me to get some quality snooze time.)

So, kids, I got overconfident - I didn't hit 100K yesterday. I still have 13 hits to go. Eh, that's okay -- it's quality over quantity, and I got fewer pervs that usual. (Although I must say, shame on the one particular searcher from New Zealand who ended up here yesterday! I won't even repeat what you were searching for when you hit my blog, but you certainly didn't find it! Bad Kiwi, bad!)

Time for sleep. Noch einmal, bitte!

G'night, kids. And g'day and happy birthday to the lovely Talking Budgie in Australia! Cheers!



P.S. Yay, we won beach volleyball!

Will you be my 100,000th customer?

Sometime tomorrow, Church of the Big Sky will reach 100,000 hits. It only took 3 1/2 years and lots of perverted searches by lonely men in the Middle East and India looking for boobies.

The truth is, the blog probably already hit 100K, but there was a 48 hour period a couple of months ago when Statcounter went on the fritz (only time I've ever known it to have a problem), but, by the books, 100K will be tomorrow.

If Customer 100K is someone I recognize, I'll send that person a little something to say thank you for the continued patronage throughout my random periods of whining, whinging, and complaining about my medical and financial woes. If it turns out to be a Middle Eastern boobie searcher, well, then they're just SOL.

Shoulder is screaming, back is screaming... time to rest and watch Project Runway. They're designing for drag queens tonight. This should be fun.

How do you deal with blog entry theft?

Especially when it's been run through some crap translator and back into half-assed English?

This came up on my "Merujo" Google Alert early this morning. Yeah, I have a Google Alert for myself. And crap like this is exactly why. I had some spamtastic loser in the Netherlands post an entry of mine (in real English) once on his page, and he still refuses to take it down or acknowledge my ownership. It's a "made for Google Adsense" website. Periodically, I consider sending a complaint to the legal authorities where he lives (his address is available on his site registration), but I understand that the Netherlands is pretty loosey-goosey about dealing with stuff like that.

This morning's theft may not be immediately recognizable to you, but it is to me. It's this post, just run through some bad translation device once or twice. And I find it incredibly irritating.

What the culprit gets out of doing this, I don't know. But I don't like intellectual property theft, regardless of the form. The Internet makes it far too easy for idiots and assholes to get away with a lot of ridiculous crap. Frankly, I think every spammer and thief caught should be forced to sit for a couple of days with big buckets of crap over their noggins. They are big shitheads, after all.

Grumbling,

Merujo

Radio commentary link added to blog

The link for my "tourist advice" commentary has been added to the "RADIO, RADIO" menu on the right. You can also click here to listen. They had to edit a couple of bits for time, alas. It's not my finest piece, but I'm just warming back up.

And yes, for those who want to know - the stuff I mention in the commentary? All painfully true. Ask me sometime about the would-be panda owner and his explanation for the rarity of pandas in China...

Walking the Black Dog

Winston Churchill battled against depression most of his life. He described his depression as the "black dog" that chewed at his mind and soul. It's a fine descriptor for depression, I think. The dog that shadows you, strangely faithful and yet so inconstantly cruel.

I know the feeling of that black dog nipping unkindly at my own heels. It's the gift - the legacy - of my mother's family. Honestly, I would have preferred just a nice photo album and maybe a couple of hand-me-down pieces of estate jewelry.

Most of the time I can keep old Rex under control, but not this time. Fate, finances, and a number of other things outside of my control came together at the start of June in a perfect storm of karmic asskicking that still has me in recovery mode now. Other than speaking with people at work, I was near silent for almost an entire month. I ignored the phone, I slept as much as possible, I learned what it was like to live off two pounds of bologna for over a week when the cupboards and the bank account were both bare. I found new levels of pain when the spigot of my insurance money was shut off for physical therapy, and I learned a little more about hate and violence when I was assaulted by a man who didn't like me because I was fat. He thought I should die, and his effort to help me to that goal took the form of a 44-ounce Big Gulp whipped directly into my bad eye. (Painful? Yes. Lethal? Not at all. Moron!) Add to that a family illness, the impending sale of my rental home, and random, unsolicited, hate-filled messages from a mentally-unstable blog/mailing list stalker from Canada, and - bam - it's been a banner season for me!

When I recounted the whole tale to a couple of very close friends (what I've mentioned here is just the tip of the iceberg - I won't talk about the rest of it here), I saw their blank, saucer-eyed looks of horror. Frankly, I think I should have finished by doing jazz hands and yelling "The Aristocrats!" It's all been a rotten enough joke to qualify, I think.

I'm going to stop there. There's no reason to rehash the simmering summer of my discontent. It has not been nice. I still owe phone calls and e-mail to so many friends. I'm embarrassed to be in touch with some, I've been silent for so long. And I'm still fighting my black dog for control. It pulls at me, and with things still off-kilter, it threatens to run circles around me, tangling me up and tripping me in its unseen leash. Each thing that goes awry finds my breath catching in my throat, with tears threatening to pour forth. I'm working on getting back to where I was before, but it's a slow, long road, kids.

But just to verify that I'm still Karma's #1 Favorite Punchline, let me recount a little of this past weekend:

• Thursday night, the car starts to reek of burnt Prestone - voila - a leak in the radiator or coolant reservoir (crap!!!), followed immediately by...
• A really nasty natural gas leak in my stove, which leads to...
• Me being late to a conference on Friday, as the clown car crew of my landlord, Washington Gas, and the condo association try to decide who's responsible for the "pass out and die" gas fiesta filling the apartment, and then...
• Of course, I can't drive the car to the conference because it might overheat (and parking at the event hotel is - get this - $31 for more than 2 hours - THIRTY-ONE DOLLARS!!!) So I have to take the Metro, where...
• The elevator is broken at the destination station, requiring me to take a strange, long, maze-like walk to the hotel, breaking my doc's rule that I only walk two blocks at a time, which means...
  
• My back is in so much pain from hoofing around the conference on Day One, I'm forced to leave for Day Two of the event late after spending the morning applying multiple layers of some generic icy hot, early bird dinner goop to my entire spine, which leads me to...
• A Red Line ride to Hell, wherein a tourist child all hepped up on fruit punch, cotton candy, and popcorn after a visit to the zoo projectile vomits fruit punch, cotton candy, and popcorn all over me before I get to the conference, where...
• The hotel staff takes pity on me, gives me water, a towel, and a hairdryer (didn't help, I still reeked) and I spend most of the day keeping my distance from a room full of scientists who probably think I have been rolling in dung or simply have the world's must disgusting B.O.

See, some things never change? Ms. Crap Magnet, reporting for duty!!

On the other hand, today has been quiet. I enjoyed the dark afternoon skies and short bursts of thunder and rain as I just tried to remember to breathe now and then. I was planning on making a pork chop casserole tonight and inviting the Sasquatch over for dinner, but since my stove (to be fixed or replaced tomorrow, I hope) is a ticking time bomb, I'm having a tuna sandwich and a big glass of water for my solo evening meal in front of the TV.

It's Shark Week, after all, when all of America gathers 'round that glowing hearth to watch tiny-brained prehistoric killers eat chum and thrash around. And, while talking Shark Week may be considered high treason for me, considering Discovery is my employer's arch nemesis, I have to see what silliness the Mythbuster guys get up to tonight. My friends, in the inimitable words of the certifiably insane Tracy Jordan on "30 Rock": "Live every week like it's Shark Week!"

And, in the words of Winston Churchill, fellow walker of the black dog, "Never, never, never give up."

Am I going to Hell for putting the Churchill quote *after* the "30 Rock" quote? I'll have to ponder that.

Regardless, never give up, kids. Never never never.

Make that black dog behave. Cesar Milan can't help me with this one. I have to keep making it heel all on my own.

Never never never give up.

Amen to that.

Amen, mah wonderful bruthas and sistahs. Don't give up. That's my aim. The Church of the Big Sky is open for business again.

And hey - for the first time since the September car accident, I got back up on the radio horse last week, too. I'll have a commentary on this week's Metro Connection show on WAMU. Details in a couple of days.

Cheers to you all! Thank you for all your queries and words of support. You guys really do rock.

Coming back

I'm moving slowly, but I'll post an entry before the weekend is over.

Thanks to the folks who have continued to come by during my absence.

Of sawdust and lawyers and the writing of words

There's very little evidence left of Saturday night's downed tree, other than a sheen of sawdust across the street. MoCo emergency workers were out there with chainsaws until at least 5 a.m. Sunday. I finally dozed off at 5, so I don't really know when they departed the scene. All I know is, when I woke up around 10, the tree was gone. The car belonging to my nice British neighbor got walloped by the end of the branches, leaving the car with big dings and an all-over coat of deep scratches.

I saw the missus talking to insurance adjusters at her door this morning, and I offered up photos of the car under the branches, if that would be helpful. Both of the adjusters stared at me like I'd grown a third eye. The missus hadn't been there when the tree fell, but husband was up, watching English football. Over the stadium crowd noise on his TV, he hadn't heard the crash. I knocked on his door to bring the bad news.

"Umm, hi... I know it's late, but I thought you should know... there's a tree on your car." This guy is so incredibly polite, so amazingly gentle, so utterly British - his response was to say, "Oh, my. I guess I should go out and see this." I, of course, would have been swearing like a sailor, bolting for the door. I admire his low-key nature. Perhaps it could be bottled and sold as a calming agent for DC commuters.

Speaking of which... I have to take the car to the quick claims place tomorrow morning. I will attempt to be mellow and Zen. I will probably fail. I'm not at my best at 7:30 in the morning, frankly. Then again, who is?

Do any of the DC area folks have a recommendation for an attorney who handles auto accident cases on a contingency basis? Yes, I know the people who advertise on local TV - but if any of you have had a good experience with anyone in particular, I'd be grateful for the advice. The lawyer my doc suggested doesn't work on contingency, and I can't afford to pay up front.

Thanks in advance for any recommendations!

Despite having taken my nighttime, sleep-inducing pain killers, I'm inspired to write, and I'm halfway through a radio commentary about concert-going etiquette. Not sure it will fly with WAMU, but it's worth trying! Hopefully, you'll hear me on your radio again soon!

Before I go -- I have to share this one fine thing with you. My friend Madame Ambassador e-mailed me today with an image that has warmed my heart. Enjoy:


Wherever you are tonight, my friends, I wish you peas. Lots and lots of peas.

Falling down on the job

I know, there hasn't much here in recent weeks. Hard to keep people interested in a blog when there's no new content. I thank those of you who continue to check in!

Truth is, I'm working on a writing assignment that's keeping me pretty busy and focused off-line these days. This particular assignment has to be finished by the end of April, so you'll see more of me after this month. I hope to be able to tell you about said assignment a bit later this year.

In doing research for this item, I've read a lot of old newspaper articles from the 1940s, including columns by the Rush Limbaugh/Sean Hannity/Bill O'Reilly of the day, Drew Pearson. American University holds the archives for his syndicated column and radio show, the Washington Merry-Go-Round. In reading one column, I came across this incredibly offensive point:

"Dynamic Ed Stettinius, handsome Undersecretary of State, has just chalked up another victory in revamping the U.S. machinery of foreign affairs. Soon after Ed entered the placid, staid old Department of State, he succeeded in banishing the Negro messengers from tables outside the doors of prominent officials, relegating them to the men's lavatory. Afterward, Ed tackled another problem--State Department floors..."

So, let me get this straight... the man who would succeed Cordell Hull as Secretary of State under Roosevelt and Truman, help found the UN, and was a longtime friend of Liberian President William Tubman, moved the "Negro" messengers from the doorways of officials to the toilets at the State Department?!?

I need to research this. I don't necessarily trust Drew Pearson's columns because of the crap he wrote about the group my mom flew with in WWII. He helped whip up a misogynistic frenzy to bring around their downfall. That's unfortunate because Pearson was one of the few journalists who would later voice outrage at the evils of McCarthyism. (And McCarthy famously slapped or kneed Pearson in the groin in a public venue during that ugly period of our history.)

I hope this is another piece of BS, but now I want to know more. If it's true, it's another shameful piece of our historic puzzle. If it isn't, it's a mark against Pearson for wartime yellow journalism.

Either way, it distresses me. Move the black guys to the crapper. Yeah, that works.

Lovely.

------------------

I'll post as often as I can over the next three weeks, folks, but things will be a little thin this month.

Meanwhile, on a more pleasant point, enjoy this video from Crowded House - who, after 20+ years, I finally get to see in May. I am smiling an almost painful Cheshire Cat grin as I write this:



There is something very sweet and sad about this video, which contrasts such visual innocence with lyrics about Paul Heaton's suicide. Personally - and somehow appropriately for Paul - my favorite kid is the guy on the right going nuts on the conga. He makes me smile.

DC peeps: Crowded House is playing the 9:30 Club on May 2. Tickets are $45. It will be SO worth it!

Another little housekeeping change here at the Church of the Big Sky

As an experiment (if my application is approved), I'll be testing out Google AdSense on the blog. A couple of my friends have put these ads on their pages and have had modest success. We'll see how it goes. There will be nothing inappropriate. Nothing tasteless. No "win a free iPod" BS. But, truth is, occasionally, mama does need a new pair of shoes. Really. If you saw the things I had on my feet today, you would have been appalled. (My podiatrist would have been even more appalled.) Here's hoping this brings in a penny here and there!

In other news, I'm working hard on my campaign for healthy eating, and, while kinda sorta watching the last quarter of the Super Bowl, I made a big pile of trail mix to take to work tomorrow. I have a bad habit of getting focused on work and missing the lunch hour - this way, I'll have something halfway decent to nosh at my desk without resorting to the crappy candy machine in the basement. It unfortunate that it's right next to the water and ice dispenser. Angel on one shoulder, devil on the other.

I've had to be very careful about walking too much as the back heals, but I'm still trying to hobble my carcass down the street to St. Matthew's Cathedral at least three times a week. I had decided a long time ago that I needed to incorporate a little mediation into my daily routine. There's been so much stress around me for so long, I felt it was important to carve out some time to just be quiet and breathe and focus. Sure, I'm not even a cafeteria Catholic at this point, but the rituals of childhood - lighting candles, finding time in a solemn place to reflect on things - help to calm and direct the mind. St. Matthew's is the church where President Kennedy's funeral took place - the base of the steps to the cathedral is where the famous photo of John-John saluting his father's casket was taken. There is something about the sense of our history that makes the cathedral an even more appropriate place for me to go and ponder life.

I'm looking to return to biking, as the back improves. My old 1980s Schwinn 10-speed is a road bike and was not designed to haul my current heft, so I have to save pennies to get enough together to buy a good, tough bike, but it'll be great to get back to pedaling around. It'll be quite a while before I can afford the bike, but that gives me time to get advice on what I need. Nothing fancy. I'm not the Sta-Puff Marshmallow Man version of Lance Armstrong; I just need something with wheels, upright handlebars, and a strong frame. (Ah likes mah men like I ah likes mah bicycles: upright with a strong frame - and preferably with a nice set of wheels. Heh.)

I bought a 2008 datebook on clearance at Barnes & Noble last week. It has the somewhat pretentious title of "A Writer's Journal." All that means is that it's a datebook illustrated with arty black & white photos of great American writers, with quotes about the craft of writing. It was either that or the pink, rhinestone-encrusted, checkbook-sized calendario with "solo para chicas!" written on it in frilly script. (No, gracias!) I have a planner at work, but I wanted one of my own, to track my efforts to be a healthier human being and my efforts to be a more creative human being.

My goals: get published and get a date. Yes, a date. With a man. A single man. A single straight man. A single straight man who isn't insane, disturbed or an utter fabulist.

Or channeling sailors from the Spanish Armada.

Here's hoping...

Thanks for the advice

Just wanted to say thank you to the folks who left comments on my last post. I think, in the end, I will just run my wee laptop into the ground while I save up for a new one. Hopefully, at least part of the screen will hold out until I can get a new (or new to me) guy to tote around.

Like I said before, it could be worse. And maybe writing longhand and keeping eyeballs off the screen in the coffee shop will be good for me -- I'll think of it as some sort of Zen therapy.

Hope you are all having a fine and restful holiday time. I'm resting a bit too much, honestly. Need to get motivated and focused again. I'm drinking a big cup of jet fuel coffee to inspire me to do some writing today. We shall see if the spirit moves me or if my muse is still lying in a gutter somewhere, cradling an empty bottle of Boone's Farm wine...

Nooooooooooo!

Okay, as if it wasn't bad enough that I tripped over my vacuum cleaner last night and slammed the handle right into my mouth - saw stars, heard the buzzing bees that always herald me fainting, and my mouth blew up like a pufferfish - but today brings a new and distressing element to My Craptacular Life: the LCD screen on my long-suffering Gateway laptop decided to die. Admittedly, by laptop standards, Old Paint is just that - old. I bought it in 2000 and it has been my constant companion at the coffee shop. This has been my tool for pounding out radio commentaries, blog entries, resumes, and just about everything else.

I've found some place in Texas that will ship a replacement screen for $300 + $22 shipping, but I'm just not sure. First, it would be months before I could have $300 saved up to buy it, but more than that -- is it worth it to invest $300+ on a new screen for a laptop this old, or does it make more sense to just run this into the ground (as long as possible and I have any screen I can see/use) and save up money very slowly to get a new laptop altogether?

I'm torn. And, frankly, buying new sneakers and underwear is a higher priority right now. (That was probably more information than you needed. Sorry.) It just means that, if the screen goes totally black, there's no more typing from the coffee shop until I can procure a new one.

Grrrrrrr!

Seriously, any realistic advice or recommendations will be gratefully accepted.

And, hey - honestly, there are much worse challenges to have in this life. All things considered, this is minor. It's a "first world problem" I should count myself lucky to have.

I can see through the big black spiderweb for now. It's as if my laptop is experiencing it's own vision crisis, mimicking my adventure in partial blindness.

Strangely, it makes me love the computer a little more.

Eeeeeeek.

As a subscriber to Writer's Digest, I get the occasional e-mail from them with writing tips, information on events, and announcements about contests. This morning, they sent out an announcement and link to holiday writing contests on a website called fanstory.com. You'll notice I didn't offer a link with that site name.

I went to see what the holiday story and poetry contests were about. Under the holiday poetry heading there were only two posts from "premier author" members of the site. Let me share one of the two posts:

"hmmm..I don't know if mine could be included for this style?? My poem is about of a gift for the holidays..But it's not saying about the X'mas celebrations..and it's an adult type ..so it means a bared it all type..lol. But it's for holiday's!! I promised!! hmmm..I really wanted to share it to all of you!! But I don't want to be disqualified if I post it without asking if I could??"

Oh my. Now, being an openminded girl, I really don't care if someone writes a holiday poem about a dick in a box. After all, Justin Timberlake did really well with that last year. (And it still makes me smile inappropriately.) It's just that... well... if this is an example of the mad writin' skillz of the "premier" participants on this site, I think I'd rather shoot myself that become a member of this community.

Yeah, you can think of me as a snob, but, c'mon. If you can't proofread your post about your desire to enter porn in a holiday poetry contest, it's just sad. Aspire to be the quality pornster!

Methinks I'll pass on this fabulous contest opportunity, but gosh, thanks, Writer's Digest for introducing me to yet another forum I don't want to visit again!

Sorry, guys!

I have a huge, brain-eating proposal that's due next Thursday. Until this baby is submitted, I'm mentally single-tracking, and unable to really write much out here.

Unless you want to talk about how much it costs to rent a herd of wildebeest for a film production, I'll be lousy company up to about 5 p.m. on the 13th.

After that, I will sleep one whole day and return to normal.

Well, as close as I will ever come to normal.

(Which ain't that close.)

Radio, Radio: The Angry Squirrel Edition!

Yes, kids, it's that time again. I'll be on the radio this Friday, talking about my recent run-in with the Wendy's chili-crazed squirrel (and other local wildlife.)

Tune into Metro Connection on WAMU -- the show runs from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. EST. I'll be the last segment, a few minutes before the end. In the DC area, you can find WAMU at 88.5 on your FM dial. Everyone can listen online at WAMU.org via live streaming or, later, in the archives. When the show is archived, I'll also have a link to it in the Radio, Radio section of my blog menu. (And for the father of Ceilisundancer, WMAL is 630 AM -- sorry I forgot to respond to your comment!!)

I'm working on more radio pieces over the holiday weekend. More adventures in the accident-prone/animal attack-prone/strangeness prone life. I invite you to come along, from the safety of your living room!

Back in the Saddle Again...

I'm the first to admit, I hit a creative dry patch. Keep in mind, I had an insanely large pile of tasks on my desk at work, a car in need of repairs, a back that was killing me, and an MRI bill that wouldn't go away. Yes, July was a total blast, kids!

But now, it's August, and I'm starting to get back in the groove, even if my crazy eyeball isn't cooperating. I had an eye emergency early this morning. My face was swollen and painful and it felt like my eye was about to pop out of its socket. One "wait and see" and a handful of ibuprofen later, I'm back to the eye patch for a few days (and lemme tell you, when it's 100F+ outside, having a black polyester eye patch on your face is a bitch.) I actually started bawling like a baby at one point this afternoon when the pain got too bad. There I was, hunched over at my desk, sweaty, miserable, and looking like a sad, fat desk pirate. Fat Desk Pirate? Not a good band name.

Before the eye went all wonky this ayem, I actually had a pretty good weekend. Spent much of Saturday playing catch up with myself, napping, reading, lounging. Life was good. Went to an online "virtual baby shower" for my friend Lunesse in Oregon in the afternoon. She's near Portland, but many of us who love her are scattered around the globe, so, in honor of the kiddo she and her husband will welcome in just under two weeks (if he's on time), I organized a shower where folks sent me their cards, gifts and goodies. I boxed it all up, shipped it out, and then we gathered online in a chat room to talk and celebrate. It was nice. And no one had to clean up after we were done. This was an old tradition in Alloy, the original Thomas Dolby fan mailing list. We had a handful of showers back in the day (about 10 years ago, more or less) and it felt good to revive this for a good friend.

Sunday, I went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix up in Gaithersburg. First shows at the Rio are $5 (!!) and I had a coupon for free popcorn. Score! The Rio is one of the local cinemas that rents out space to a church on Sundays, so I saw Potter on a smaller screen, but hey - only five bucks and there were, maybe, ten other people in the whole room - all grown-ups, and not a cell phone to be heard. Bliss!

(Also, no rats, drunk smelly guys or lesbian handpuppet sex.)

Spent the afternoon at Mayorga in King Farm with the Sasquatch - he studiously and furiously worked on his graphic design projects for his MFA program, and I wrote pieces for WAMU. Believe it or not, I have a list of ten (TEN!) radio pieces that are nearly done - I wrote the first drafts for two over a jet-fueled cafe mocha. (I wrote another one at the 15th & M Caribou last Friday evening - that one I wrote so quickly and on so much caffeine, you'd think the text was actually the ramblings of an unmedicated schizophrenic.) The first one I finished a couple of weeks ago - about my weird squirrel attack - I'll be editing with the fab host & producer of "Metro Connection" tomorrow. If I can swing it, we might even get it recorded on Wednesday. Whoo-hoo!

So, yeah, I'm back on a roll, guys. Radio stuff, delving back into the writing of The Book... It'll take me a little while to get really warmed back up here on the keyboard at the Church of the Big Sky. Doesn't help that it's ungodly hot in my apartment right now, despite the a/c. Being sticky (and having one eye obscured) is simply not conducive to happy rambling. I think a nice cool shower might be order. That, and a few minutes of squinting at whatever is on Adult Swim right now. Man, I'm so looking forward to the season premiere of Robot Chicken on Sunday! Bring on the tasteless celebrity and superhero parodies! Yeaaaah!

Neither here nor there, but I've embedded my Last.fm radio station over on the right side of the blog. Just click play and you can hear the music I listen to myself. And if you loathe a song, you can click to hear the next track. My tastes ramble, just like I do. Enjoy.

Before I head off for some nice cool water, a word of thanks to the lovely Janet of On Rush Hour in D.C. - she accidentally procured an extra copy of the last Harry Potter book and gifted it to me. Janet is a damn fine woman and generous human being. She is one of the real gems I've met through blogging here in DC. And again, I thank her for her kindness. Now, if only the dang eye would settle down so I can enjoy all those lovely pages waiting to be turned...

On Friday...

...I'll be guest-blogging for my friend D over on his blog American Twentysomething 3.0. I have to keep my usual case of Blogger Tourettes in check for this one. Dariush runs a nice, clean, family-friendly site, so you will be amazed to see me keep references to swearing, crack-addled Wal-Mart customers to myself for a day. Shocking, I know. But seriously, I can work clean. Honest.

So, come visit Chez Dariush tomorrow. Hopefully, he won't regret letting me do this.

Heh heh heh heh heh...